


precipice

by wolfoncaffeine



Series: brave the storm for its lightning [6]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Gen, Light Angst, Panic Attack, Self-Doubt, eirlana lavellan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-07
Updated: 2018-09-07
Packaged: 2019-07-07 20:38:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15915804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wolfoncaffeine/pseuds/wolfoncaffeine
Summary: After learning of Corypheus' intentions in Redcliffe's warped future, old doubts resurface and new fears follow.





	precipice

Wind blew across Lake Calenhad, lifting the gulls higher, fluttering the sails of ships anchored in the harbour, and blowing through Eirlana’s hair. She shivered, despite the warm summer evening, and tugged her cloak tighter. Across the bay, easily visible from her perch atop a low wall, stood Redcliffe’s castle.

She tipped her tankard back and finished the last of her pint of mediocre ale. Shoulders sinking, she set it down beside her. She knew she should be preparing potions or writing a report to Leliana, but all she’d managed was walking to the tavern and leaving with a drink. And now, her limbs weighed too heavy to stand up and buy another pint. She ached all over, sore from overexertion and a dozen minor wounds. And yet, something other than fatigue kept her still.

Behind her, the tavern door creaked open and, for a moment, she heard Iron Bull, Sera, and Varric — evidently still playing Wicked Grace. At Varric’s invitation to join, she’d declined with a weak smile and “Another time.” He’d nodded, though the concern in his eyes remained.

_“Where were you?”_

She rubbed her forehead as it began to ache. Maybe she should’ve said “yes.” Maybe she could’ve ordered food and avoided getting buzzed from one drink. Maybe losing spectacularly at a human game would’ve been distracting enough to ignore the memories of her companions, aglow with lyrium-poisoning and dying.

_“I ran out of arrows making them pay.”_

She shivered again. No, it would not have been enough.

The tavern door opened again and, after a moment’s pause, someone approached.

“Mind if I join you?”

Eirlana twisted around to see Dorian, holding two fresh pints. She patted the space beside her, then held both tankards while he hopped up.

They drank in silence, watching fishing boats return for the night and trying to steer their gazes away from the castle.

_“This world is an abomination. It must never come to pass.”_

_I know. I know._ The Breach so massive it had swallowed the sky and allowed bellanar’an to bleed through. Demons everywhere. Red lyrium in the walls, the dead, and the living. The sickness horridly loud in their voices and horridly bright in their eyes.

“Kaffas.” She glanced at Dorian to see his gaze fixed on the castle. “I knew Alexius was desperate, but that….”He shook his head. “What will happen to him, do you think?”

“He’ll return with us to Haven. After that, I don’t know. I…I’m sorry.”

Blurry in her peripheral, he turned toward her. “You don’t?”

“Why would I?”

When she looked at him, he raised an eyebrow. “You’re their leader, are you not?”

She swallowed, the ale suddenly tasting worse than salt water. “Not that I’ve been informed, no."

“Perhaps not officially.”

“I’m not.”

“You offered those Circle mages an alliance — a decision which several of your companions disagreed with, I noticed.”

And no one had argued. Yes, Bull had grumbled, Sera had griped, and Cassandra’s lips had thinned to one, near-invisible line. But no one had intervened, or tried afterward to convince her to reverse her decision.

She clutched her tankard, fingertips rubbing back and forth against the dented metal. “No doubt they’ll regret it,” she said, then realized she’d spoken to herself more than Dorian.

He snorted, ignorant of or ignoring her slip. “And choose to take _your_ place? I doubt that.”

She knew, with an uncomfortable feeling in her gut, that he was right. None of her companions had shown any desire to lead the Inquisition, while their spymaster, ambassador, or commander could not afford to. Even disregarding the full-time duties of those titles, none of them paired well with the exposure of leadership — Leliana couldn’t manage her networks efficiently if she stood at the forefront, as much as Montilyet couldn’t simultaneously handle politics or Rutherford an entire army.

_That leaves me. The gods-damned Herald of Andraste._ She set her tankard down with a clatter. At Montilyet’s advice, she hadn’t yet denied that title, and at her own desire, hadn’t affirmed it. It didn’t matter. The hostility townsfolk once watched her with had shifted to something far heavier, something bordering on awe, and with every person saved or demon slain, those looks shifted farther. Within the Inquisition, too — agents in the field offering help at every turn, her colleagues turning to her during war councils. And her companions, who deferred to her, who stood by despite their disapproval.

_Deshanna would be proud,_ she knew with sudden certainty. _What else have I trained for for fifteen years but to lead?_

_But Clan Lavellan, not an Inquisition. Not something so vast. Not something with so many pieces. Not something with that horror waiting if we fail. I can’t —_ She dropped her head into her hands, unbound hair spilling over her shoulder. Her stomach churned and the Anchor throbbed. _Demons. An army of demons massive enough to conquer Thedas. How do I stop that from happening? How do I stop any of that future from happening? How do I stop this? How do I stop —_

Warmth blossomed between her shoulder blades. She stiffened, then registered the slight weight of a hand.

“Deep breaths. You’re okay.”

She inhaled shakily, thoughts tumbling on. _I can’t lead the Inquistion. Someone else must. I won’t be enough. I’m never —_

“Eirlana, breathe. Focus on the heat.”

At the sound of her name, a sound she hadn’t heard in months, her thoughts dissolved.

“Breathe.”

Focusing on the magicked heat moving slowly, back and forth, between her shoulders, she inhaled and exhaled deliberately.

_I can’t lead —_ Jaw tight, she squashed the thought.

She timed her breaths with the movement of Dorian’s magic — inhaling as it swept left and exhaling as it moved right. Gradually, as the sunlight dimmed, her panic ebbed.

She slumped further, elbows resting on her knees. “Thank you.”

He squeezed her shoulder before drawing his hand back. “Are you all right?”

She straightened and nodded. Left hand in her right, she squished her palm between thumb and fingers to dull the pain through pressure. “We’re lucky. We know what this Elder One is planning. Now we need a plan to stop them.”

“‘Lucky’ isn’t quite the word I would have chosen, but I’m with you.”

She blinked at him. “You’ll join the Inquisition?”

“You thought I’d want to sit out the apocalypse?” He grinned. “Not a chance.”

“Good,” she said, picking up her tankard and tapping it against his. “I’d hate to lose my time-travelling partner.” She didn’t say, _you’re the only other person who’s seen what will happen if we fail._

“Let’s avoid getting stranded again, yes? As monotonous as the South is, I much prefer ‘rustic and boring’ to ‘blighted and nightmarish.’”

She snorted. “I promise, nothing about this will be boring.”

He sighed. “You’re overlooking the _weeks_ of walking it will take to get anywhere from this backwoods village of yours.”

She laughed softly, only faking it halfway. “We do have horses.”

**Author's Note:**

> bellanar'an = place of eternity, aka the Fade


End file.
